Me with 4/5's of my dissertation committee. Bottom row, left to right: David
Chalmers; your esteemed host; and a smidgeon of Brian Cantwell-Smith. Top, left
to right: Mike Dunn and Timothy O'Connor. The missing member is Anil Gupta.

Me about to get payback on Adam Kovach, who once just about gouged my eye out
while I was struggling valiantly to win a marshmallow eating contest. Once, in a
conversation about the ontology of holes, Adam passionately argued that, if he
reached inside my mouth, and turned me inside out so that my asshole was pulled
out my head, then the entire universe would be contained in my butt. I wasn't
entirely convinced by his arguments, ingenious though they were, and Adam is
still working to prove the key enema..er, lemma.

For some reason, you couldn't blow your nose in Bloomington without an
Australian or two coming out. Here are three of the better ones, from left ot
right, Ascha, Pragati, and Richard. Ascha and Pragati are both extremely
intelligent, but, unfortunately, it is marred by their great beauty. Richard is
purportedly a talented fellow in his own way, although I can't vouch for that
personally.

Me with yet another Australian, Steve Crowley. Aside from being tall,
powerfully built, good looking, and very, very bright, Steve hasn't a thing
going for him. Just about all the Australians I've met have this
tall/good-looking/brilliant/beautiful thing going on. It's like the land down
under is populated by a race of gods and godesses, as far as I can tell. Weird.
The dark and sinister figure in the corner, striking a pose for Rodan, is Eric
Dalton, party guy.

Me striking a pose with my friend Emily. Emily was a student in a critical
thinking class I taught a few years ago, and after the semester was over she
kept in touch and we ended up becoming good buddies. She's a talented
artist/photographer.

Me with Jim Hardy. Does this guy look like a philosopher, or what? A
very bright logician who will drive you absolutely crazy if he decides to pick
an argument with you.

In a department bereft of women, here are three who had the courage to try.
On the left there's Kate, a french linguist who fell into our clutches by
rooming with....Karen, who is actually in the department, and occupies
the middle of that troika, decked out in her elegant black dress; and that's
Paige, forced into our group by marriage, smiling for the camera. When Kate's
not doing manic monster impressions, she's really a babe.

Me with a bunch of my Bloomington cohorts, drinking it up at the Irish Lion.
Going clockwise from left to right, that's Kate, who, when she's not staring off
into the distance, is really a babe; Erik Lindland, a maniac
postmodernist; Karen, who is probably thinking something ironic; yours truly,
holding it all together; on the other side of me is
some-guy-from-italy-whose-name-I-can't-remember; and Eric Dalton, still a party
animal. Oh, and that's Craig Delancey who apparently just had some alien spore
enter his mind through the back of his neck.

Not to be left out, from left to right, Chim and her husband Kip -- who
actually claims to believe he's the only existing person; next, Jim Edwards, and
his mistress Christie. Flush from orgasm, Christie absent mindedly plays with
her hair. On the other side of the table, friends debate whether or not to tell
Christie's husband Tim about the affair, finally agreeing not to in exchange for
the materials they need to create an atomic bomb. Shhhhhhhhhh.

Finally, as if to prove he's more than just a brainy guy who drinks, Gregg
includes some fuzzy photographs of him apparently playing rugby. Although
blurry, the photos are suggestive enough to spark a worldwide frenzy of interest
among interested experts in the field of Gregg studies.